


Welcome to the Real World

by mosylu



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Flashpoint versions, Gen, and maybe a little teensy bit of soapboxing, pure speculation on the pediatrician thing BTW, some discussion of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 09:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8138819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosylu/pseuds/mosylu
Summary: Cisco doesn't know why that weird stringbean kidnapped a pediatrician, of all things. Poor lady. She's used to Legos and Barbie bandaids and all this supervillain/superhero mess is probably freaking her right out. He tries to help.Dr. Caitlin Snow's not having it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So on Tumblr, somebody speculated that Caitlin might be a pediatrician in Flashpoint. I don't think it'll happen but it's an interesting idea and I wanted to play with it.

“Ow!” Cisco yelped.

“Sit still,” Dr. Snow said, dabbing the cut on his face with something that stung wickedly.

“Nice bedside manner.”

“If we were in my office, I could give you a puzzle game to hold," she said, very very blandly.

“Thanks, I’m good,” he said, narrowing his eyes. Did she know who he was? He’d fired the last person who’d snotted off to him like this. Of course, he wasn’t paying her, so he couldn’t fire her. Maybe he could pay her to leave? But that seemed like it was missing the point a little. 

Plus that not-right-in-the-head stringbean would probably just kidnap her again. Apparently he had to put up with her. 

She kept dabbing and prodding, calm as a glacier.

He said, “You seem awfully chill about all this, given that you spend your days wiping runny noses.”

She snorted. “One time I extracted five Legos from a six-year-old’s nose,” she said. Dab, dab, dab, owwwwwwwwww. “Not the small ones, either. Another time, I did an x-ray on a toddler and found four dollars and twenty-seven cents in loose change in her stomach. Believe me, superpowered - what did you call them? metas? - are nothing next to human children.”

“Well, it’s nice of you to step out like this, especially after Barry kidnapped you. I’m sure it’s an adventure after what you do all day.”

“What I do all day?” She set the cotton ball down, and he let out a breath of relief.

“Sure. I mean, it’s probably a shock to see all the nastiness, out here in the real world. Supervillains beating up on innocent trillionaires and whatnot. Don’t worry. We’ll have you back with the Barbie bandaids in no time. And hey, if you want, Ramon Industries will buy you a whole bunch of new toys for your waiting room. How’s that? Good deal, huh?”

She nodded, affixing a butterfly bandage to his face. “So, because I work with children, I have no idea what the world is really like.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “Someone’s got to do it, and it sounds like a nice, safe, cushy job. I don’t blame you.”

“Last week, I treated an eleven-year-old with a dislocated shoulder, a broken elbow, and a spiral fracture of the humerus.”

“Funny bone?”

“Your upper arm. Here.” She tapped his bicep through his blood-spotted dress shirt. “He swore he got it falling out of bed. What’s more likely is that an adult - probably his own father - grabbed it like this - “ She rested a hand on his shoulder and another just below his elbow “- and _twisted.”_

Cisco went cold all over.

Her voice was still icy. “All I could do was call our local CPS office and hope that they had a spare second, in all the other reports of abused and neglected children, to go check this one out. And that’s not new. I see hunger and neglect and pain every day, inflicted on the smallest and most helpless of human beings.” She looked at him dead-on, and for a pair of eyes the color of tea with honey, they were astonishingly cold. “So how about you tell me again, Mr. Ramon, how I don’t know anything about _nastiness?_ Bullying. Evil, even.”

He had no reply for that.

She nodded. “I’m willing to bet I know more about the evils of the world than you do, up here safe on top of your pile of money.”

“Hey. Whoa,” he said. His voice shook. “You don’t know anything about me or what I’ve seen.”

“And you don’t know anything about me, so how about you stop making assumptions, hmmm?” She stripped off her gloves. “You’ll be fine. It probably won’t even scar.” 

He shrugged into his Italian suit jacket (torn; probably not even worth getting it repaired since he had a closet full just like it) watching her stalk away. The things she’d told him sat in his stomach like - well, like four dollars and twenty-seven cents worth of loose change.

He let out his breath and went after her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I did make an assumption, and you know what they say about those.”

“Well, you certainly did make an ass of yourself,” she said coolly. 

He rolled his eyes. “You don’t give an inch, do you?”

“I save my softness for my patients.”

He pointed at his cheek. “This says I’m your patient.”

“The ones who aren’t old enough to vote. But I appreciate the apology.”

He nodded a little.

She played with the ring on her finger. Wrong hand for an engagement ring, technically, he thought, and she sure didn’t act like a woman who was about to get married. What was the story there?

She said, “You had a fairly strong reaction when I was talking about the boy with the broken arm last week.”

“I don’t know anybody who wouldn’t react to that.”

“You don’t have to answer me, but - “

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“Okay,” she said, with surprising mildness. She tucked her hands in her pockets.

They leaned against the wall in oddly companionable silence, watching Barry and Wally bicker over something.

“I know why I’m helping,” she said slowly. “But why are you? You can make your own bubble of comfort and safety and never need to go beyond it.”

“But it’s only big enough for me. And like you said, it’s a nasty old world out there. If this Flash weirdo, either one of them, can help change that even a little, I’m willing to help out.”

She studied him, her face softening. She nodded.

“Do I get a lollipop?” he asked. “I mean, I think I was a pretty good boy besides that whole thing, and I did say sorry.”

“We don’t do that anymore. Bad for the teeth. Here.” She handed him a sticker from her pocket.

He looked at it. “Sweet. Thomas the Train.” He peeled it off the little white square of backing paper and slapped it on his lapel.

Her brows went up. “You’re going to wear it?”

“Honey, I don’t know if you realize, but I have enough money that I could cover my entire body with stickers and nobody would say a goddamn word.”

She gave a little snort of laughter, but said, “Don’t call me honey.”

FINIS


End file.
